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This little person represents Ethan’s “people.” I absolutely drew the line at his father’s printout of a polish sausage (seriously? How about a Polish joke t-shirt too, Mr. Sensitivity) and the Danish was an 11th hour addition to his little guy’s elbow. Because haven’t we all, at one point or another, wished a danish would magically appear in our elbow?

The picture is black and white to save you from the assault of colors represented by Heritage Guy and Ethan’s pajamas. That and it’s out of focus. You’re welcome.

D and I were having a very tedious argument about whether or not the one bug I found in the kitchen actually started out the night before upstairs in my couch on the cookie bar someone had abandoned God himself only knows how long ago (I still say ‘NO’). We weren’t arguing face-to-face. He was down below in the backyard and I was up on the porch. In fact, I couldn’t even see him.

Off to the side I heard “Mom, there’s a problem.”

I looked straight out to see Ethan in a tree. About 10 feet up in a tree. A tree that really isn’t a climbing tree because the limbs are only an inch thick.

K: What are you doing in that tree?
E: I was on the rope swing and then I just ended up in the tree.
K: I don’t understand how that happens. The rope swing goes beside that tree, not towards it.
E: I was on the rope and then the tree was there so I grabbed it and now I’m in the tree. It’s complicated.
K: Isn’t it always?
E: How do I get down?
K: I have no idea. I guess you’ll need to figure that out.

But when your mom pays a gypsy to climb 50 feet up your tree to tie a rope that you can ride all the way through the arc to a height of 10 feet 2 inches (verified by Nate’s tape measure) from the bottom of your shoe to the ground, you most certainly will be expected to get yourself out of a tree should you find yourself there by way of grabbing onto it.

The only reason the whispy tree is still there is because their father likes the spring blooms. Sure the branch can cause an occasional leg scratch and we do maintain a standing recommendation to all newcomers that they close their eyes if it appears they may become blinded, but by golly is that tree pretty in April. And you sure as hell better figure out how to climb down if you are going to be crazy enough to get stuck in it.

K: Where is your folder?
Ethan: I don’t know. MOM! We need to find a place to put my bag EVERY SINGLE DAY so I have a routine and can find it.
K: Who said those words to you?
E: My teacher.
K: Exactly. Did you mention to her that you have a specific HOOK by the door for your bag?
E: No. I forgot.
K: Just like you forgot to hang up your bag. Your bag, dude. Your problem.

Fastforward to the afternoon, when I find his folder. Inside is a yellow 😐 face for yesterday, which is not a green :-). I lie in wait to attack him as he gets off the bus.

K: I found your folder today.
E: Good.
K: What’s up with the yellow deadpan face from yesterday?
E: What are you talking about?
K: Yellow face with a mouth that goes like this (miming a horizontal line).
E: I think she had to use yellow because she lost her green pen.
K: (holding up the evidence) Seriously? She lost her green pen? So she used a yellow pen and accidently made a face like this? (miming horizontal line again)
E: Oh. Well these kids were talking to me and they wouldn’t stop and then I got in trouble.
K: So you told me she lost her green pen?
E: I didn’t want you to be mad.
K: I just cruised past mad, my friend.

His father thought the lie was clever. This is what I’m working with, people. I am so screwed.

Baby has taken to drinking out of puddles. And the dog bowl. He gets right down on all fours and drinks. Sometimes he just bends over at the waist and drinks. I feel like this is a skill he’ll be sorry to lose when he gets older and his body can no longer perfectly bend in two. I offer him a cup, he shakes his head “no” and points to the dog bowl. Yesterday the dog stood beside him and just looked at him. I wanted to offer my apologies to the dog but it seemed empty. I mean, it is what it is.

Puddles are more confusing to me because frankly, they are nasty. It’s a puddle. It’s muddy. So intrigued by his brother’s need to drink outdoor water, his older brother Nate got down on all fours the other day during our flood and took a sip. The muddy water flew back out of his mouth just about as fast as it went into his mouth. “WHAT THE???”

Baby just looked at him with his best “I can’t help it if you don’t like muddy water, Dude.” He didn’t say these words because he’s two and he doesn’t speak. But somehow we all knew that’s what he was thinking.